


it was a lie when they smiled (and said 'you won't feel a thing')

by realmsoffreedom



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Addiction, Homelessness, M/M, Prostitution, Rape, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, Ashton Irwin disappeared, leaving only a note that said not to find him. </p><p>When they do find him, however, it's in such an unfortunate state that none of them ever imagined possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was a lie when they smiled (and said 'you won't feel a thing')

**Author's Note:**

> hi, so this fic is my baby. I've been working on it for a long time now, and I am so proud of how it came out. It's full of pain, and probably will make you cry...I cried while writing it. This is probably the darkest thing I've ever written, so trigger warnings galore. If you're sensitive toward a single thing I tagged, I wouldn't advise reading this, as it's very triggering. I'll let you guys read on, enjoy the journey of angst.
> 
> and the title's from disenchanted, by mcr, btw

He’s desperate.

“Please, Alejandro, please! I don’t have any cash, but I need them!”

“You know the drill, no cash, no drugs. When you have the cash, gimme a call. Until then, get the fuck outta my sight.”

Ashton’s shoulders droop as he trudges away. His head is pounding, the aching of his skull making him dizzy. The sun isn’t doing anything to help matters, either. Withdrawl fucking sucks. The mental part is shitty in itself, but what he really can’t tolerate is the nausea and the constant migraines. His head is constantly pounding, sending sparks of agony into his skull and making him wish he wasn’t alive. It’s a constant blur of symptoms, all combining to make him feel like one of the walking dead.

He doesn’t remember when things got like this. 

He does remember how happy he used to be – how full of energy and life he was. It all seems so foreign now. He’s not even sure how it was possible for him to have that kind of an attitude toward life. The periods both before and after were just dark, heavy, and depressing, so maybe he was deluding himself into being happy. It didn’t last that long.

The band broke up in 2018. The seven year run was a good one, but it couldn’t keep on going. Typically, bands break up because of fights and drama within the band members – nothing like the My Chemical Romance break up. Ashton wishes he could say that their breakup was amicable, but it really wasn’t.

Luke and Michael had grown closer, until it’d almost seemed like they were one person with one opinion, rather than two separate, differently opinionated individuals. They constantly opposed him, fought him on every decision he made. Calum tried to stay neutral and keep impartial, but he eventually began to jump over to Luke and Michael’s side. If that wasn’t a sign that none of them ever cared about Ashton or what he had to say, he didn’t know what was.

So he got up and left. The headlines were inevitable. ‘Ashton Irwin disappears just as bandmates announce the break up of 5 Seconds of Summer’. He found a small apartment out of the public eye, and that was where he stayed. With the amount of money to his name, he was able to live comfortably – so comfortably that he never had to leave his house. He hired people to shop for him, to cook, to clean, etc. 

And then the money began to run out. 

Slowly, slowly, he began to run out of money, until he’d had none left. He had to let all the people he had working for him go, sell his apartment, and then it reduced him to the streets. 

Ashton Irwin, former rockstar of 5 Seconds of Summer, was living on the streets. 

The streets were where he found drugs. Getting high enough to forget about how shitty he had it was his only source of sanctuary. Soon, he barely had enough money to buy the heroin and cocaine, and no one wanted to hire the homeless street rat. Life was miserable for him. 

Prostitution was an act of weakness and desperation. He was so fucking desperate for the drugs, it became his only option. Sell his body for money that he didn’t use to get himself out of the hole he was in, oh no, the money went to buying enough heroin and cocaine for him to go another day without wanting to kill himself. 

So all in all, Ashton had it pretty shitty. 

Which brings him back to today. 

He’s too sore, too exhausted to be someone’s sex toy tonight, and he doesn’t have enough to buy the drugs he desperately needs. The only way he can stomach having sex with strangers and letting them destroy him for money, is when he’s high. No drugs, can’t get high, no money, can’t buy food.

He’s fucked and broken and tired and everything hurts, every fiber and ounce of his being _kills_ , but no one will take him seriously, because all he is, is a drug-addicted whore that no one wants.

He has scars on his wrists, scars on his heart, and no will to live. The band doesn’t know he even exists, for all they know, he could be dead, and he prefers it that way. They never really wanted him. They just needed a drummer, and he was the only option. All three of them always had this close bond because they grew up together and went to school together, and he could never share it.

He was never as close to Calum as Michael was, and he never got close enough with Luke like Calum and Michael both had. He’s always the loner, in school, in the band, and now here, fending for himself.

So now he’s here. 

He shuffles back into the alleyway he calls his “home”, sinking down against the wall and bringing his knees into his chest. 

He’s always been the homely type – his family has always been of utmost importance. It fucking _kills_ that he hasn’t had any contact with his mum and siblings in five years. He never wanted to be away from them for this long, but honestly, why would they want to deal with a crackwhore? Why bother trying to make amends? He’s addicted to heroin and cocaine and oxycontin and he sells his body for money. He’s a mess. What kid would be proud to have someone like that as their brother? What mum would be proud to have someone like that as her _son_? 

He’s just a fucking disappointment. 

He misses his boys too. He won’t deny that for a second. He misses them so goddamn much, with every fiber of his being, day and night, every day of the five years he’s been gone. He misses laughing and joking and cuddling with them and finally feeling okay, feeling like he belonged. He misses them more than absolutely anything.

But he honestly doubts that they would even want him back. At least, this version of him. The old Ashton is no more. He’s nothing like his old self. Nothing like the Ashton they ever knew. 

His stomach churns, flipping wildly, the nausea making him absolutely dizzy. He lifts his head and turns it to the side, just in time for vomit to come barreling out of him. 

Yeah, withdrawal is the fucking worst.

…

“Fuck, Luke, move! I’m trying to beat this level!”

Luke scoffs, moving so he isn’t blocking the TV, and settling in next to Michael. He slides his right arm between Michael’s back and the couch, melting into his boyfriend’s body. Michael presses into him, still focused on his game. 

“Still just as video game obsessed as you were when we were teenagers.”

“And you’re surprised?”

“When I wanna cuddle my boyfriend, he’s always playing something or another.” Michael hits a button on the controller and then drops it on the carpet, grinning.

“I fucking beat the level!” He glances back at Luke apologetically, wrapping his body around the blond’s, resting his chin in the junction of Luke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted lately, baby. I love you.”

“It’s because the five year anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Don’t call it an anniversary. We’re not celebrating being abandoned by one of our brothers. If I can even call him that,” Michael grumbles. “He just fucking picked up and left! He didn’t say anything to anyone! He made us break up the fucking band!”

“No, he didn’t.”

Michael lifts his head up, to be met with saddened chocolate eyes. 

“Ashton didn’t make us do anything. We very well could’ve carried on as a three piece, or even got a new drummer. We made the choice not to play without him. We broke up the band. He had nothing to do with it.”

“Doesn’t explain why he just fuckin’ walked out on us. Like we meant nothing to him. Didn’t he know what that would do to us?”

“Only Ashton can tell us why he did what he did,” Calum says softly. “We haven’t made enough of an effort to try and find him. To try and see where he is and what made him leave us. If he really means that much to us, shouldn’t we have done something like that?”

“I was too busy going crazy,” Michael mutters lowly. 

“Stop that,” Luke says firmly. “You’re not crazy. You have depression, and the new meds should control it better than your last ones did. You’re perfectly normal, Mikey. The only thing crazy about you is your insistence that you’re fucked up, when you’re not.”

“I am, and it’s because of him,” Michael sighs. “It’s not fair. He goes and leaves and he’s probably happy where he is, and I’m still sitting here and wondering why we…why I wasn’t enough for him to stay. I still don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

“Nothing,” Luke replies. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of us did anything wrong. Like Cal said, the only person who can tell us what really happened is Ashton. And none of us knows where he is.”

“Our old fans might know, though,” Calum suggests. “They live in every part of the world. Some of them at least _have_ to live where Ash is.”

“Why do we even want to find him?” Michael grumbles. “He broke us by leaving. All he left was a note saying he was sorry and not to look for him. So why bother? He obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

“It’s been five years, Mikey. Don’t you want to know what happened that night?”

_“Ash? Ash, we’re home!”_

_Luke tries to locate the last fourth of the band, simultaneously giggling at Calum’s futile efforts to support a drunken, rambling Michael._

_Tonight was the last show of their tour supporting their third album, hence the drinking. Ashton didn’t wanna come out with them for some reason, and Luke’s sober mind couldn’t comprehend why. His drunken one is just downright sad because he wanted Ashton to celebrate this monumental moment with them._

_“Ashton? Where are yoooouuu?” He singsongs the last word, so adorably drunk and trying to keep his balance. Calum is the least drunk out of all of them, but Luke’s pretty sure he won’t be able to deal with two bandmates stumbling all over the place, unable to stand and walk properly because of alcohol inhibition._

_“Ashton better show up in the next two minutes to help me get you two assholes to bed,” Calum grumbles. He leans Michael against the wall, and reaches to shut the door, managing to catch the older boy just in time for him to start falling. “Fuck, Mikey, you’re so fucking wasted.”_

_“M’not a waste,” Michael slurs. “Don’ call me that!”_

_“Fucking hell,” Calum mutters. “You’re really drunk.”_

_“M’not drunk!”_

_“Okay, okay, jesus christ.” Calum looks around, searching for the oldest member of the band. Where the hell is Ashton when you need him? Finding his search coming to no avail, he groans and turns to Luke. “Alright, I’m gonna go put Mikey to bed, and then I’ll come back for you. Stay right here. Do not move.”_

_Luke nods numbly, watching Calum drag Michael into their shared bedroom. It’s about five minutes before he comes back out, holding an arm out for Luke._

_Luke takes it, and allows Calum to lead him into the bedroom, where Michael is already sleeping. Calum directs him to his bed, and then sets a garbage can on the side of the bed, directly across the one next to Michael’s bed._

_“If you feel like puking tomorrow morning, do it in here,” Calum instructs gently. “There’ll be Advil and water waiting when you wake up. Sleep, Lukey. It’s been a long day.”_

_“Goodnight, Cally,” Luke giggles, turning over and burying his face in his arm._

_Calum sighs and backs out of the room, exhausted. “Finally.” He makes his way to the bedroom he shares with Ashton, flopping down on his own bed._

_He notices a piece of paper on Ashton’s bed, one that wasn’t there when they left. Rolling off his own bed, he sits down on Ashton’s and grabs the scrap of paper._

_**Boys,** _

_**I’m very sorry to say that I have to leave. Everything has just become too much for me, and I can’t take it any longer. I don’t care what you do about the band, replace me, become a three piece, whatever you want. I’m done with all of this. I don’t know where I’m going, just that I need to get away. Please don’t look for me. I don’t want to be found. I just want to be left alone for a while.** _

_**I love you all.** _

_**Ashton** _

_Calum’s heart stops._

…

He’s so fucking hungry.

Hunger pains combined with withdrawal are even worse. 

It feels like someone is ripping at his abdomen, tearing his stomach open. The pains are so bad that they bubble up to his throat, leaving him nauseated and dizzy. He’s torn between wanting to eat and needing to throw up, not that he knows which will most likely happen first. 

If he’s lucky, he’ll find some recently thrown out food that’s not disgusting enough yet. That’ll be his meal for the day. Goddamn, he’s pathetic. 

He can’t remember how long it’s been since he’s listened to music. He doesn’t even know when his only sense of solace was ripped away from him, but it has not ceased to destroyed him every second of every day. He got rid of his phone a while ago, threw it at a brick wall and enjoyed the satisfaction of watching it smash. No need for a phone when you have nowhere to charge it. No phone, no music, nothing to keep him tethered to this world.

He swallows hard, wincing as it sends sparks of pain down his throat. Homeless people don’t have the luxury of seeing a doctor when something’s wrong. Sickness has plagued him multiple times, but he’s always had to let it run its course, its miserable, unnecessary course. He’s been beat up many times, he’s known that they’ve broken bones, but he’s been unable to do shit about it. One of his ankles is probably sprained, and he’s got bruises everywhere. Plus, he can barely walk, if not because of the ankle, because he’s been fucked so hard in the ass that he’s too fucking sore. 

A constant state of agony has never been more familiar. 

It’s miraculous that no fan has found him yet. That could be because he stays hidden – he doesn’t leave his alleyway during the day. Interacting with people is the lowest thing on his to-do list. Prostitution allows him to work the nights, and that’s usually the only time he goes out. If he’s lucky, he finds food then too. He’s not in the mood to get judged left and right by pretentious assholes because of the lifestyle he’s been forced to live.

Yeah, he didn’t have to get into drugs and he could probably find a less degrading job if he wasn’t so damn addicted, but it’s honestly better than slitting his wrists to cope. That’s only reserved for the times when he just can’t afford to get more. Like right now. 

Any type of pain is good pain, at this point. He’s never known any other way of coping, other than the rush he used to get while playing a show. That obviously won’t happen anymore, so he’s reduced to blades and blood and just trying to scrape up enough money to buy more coke so he can forget all about his goddamn hell of a life.

He’s never missed his old life as much as he does now. Not even the fame part of it, just the aspect of having three other people who understand every feeling and emotion you have, because they’ve felt the same way. He misses the late nights with his boys, when they used to stay up talking until 2 am, not caring that they had to get up for photoshoots four hours later. He misses Calum giving him a cuddle whenever he needed one, when the hate got to him or he missed home. 

But most of all, he misses having a sense of safety and security. He misses knowing he’d have a bed to sleep in when the day ended, knowing he’d have food waiting for him, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping on the streets with nothing but his ripped, dirty clothes to keep him warm. He misses home. He misses not being homeless – living a life that doesn’t include selling his body for money and scrounging for something to eat. 

Everyone takes advantage of the simplest things in life. He used to do it too – never once did he think he’d end up on the street with nothing more than the clothes on his back. He never imagined not having enough food and having to allow himself to be raped just to get money for food. Yeah, he doesn’t try and stop anyone he’s forced to have sex with, but he wants none of it. He’s not sure if it counts as rape, or if he’s just pathetic enough to get upset over something that isn’t even that. 

Consent doesn’t apply in his world. His body is not his. His mind doesn’t seem to belong to him, either. All the thoughts are either about death, blood, or drugs. He doesn’t feel at all like himself anymore, nothing feels real. The disassociation makes him feel so fucking awful some days, he just wishes he could fall asleep and never wake up. He’s been through hell, his body’s been through hell, and he’s just done with putting himself through this. Everything hurts and nothing’s going to get better and god fucking dammit, he should’ve killed himself when he had the chance.

Death would be better than this.

…

Calum scrolls through his Twitter feed absentmindedly, retweeting a few tweets he finds interesting. The fans aren’t nearly as crazy as they used to be – it has been five years since the break up, and they’ve become more of friends than fans, at this point. He enjoys talking with them. It’s nice to get to know the people who’ve supported you through everything and will continue to do so for the rest of your life. 

#WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

The hashtag makes him freeze. It’s trending worldwide, over a million people have tweeted it already. 

He clicks it shakily, his heart starting to race. 

@irwinslegacy: Five years, and I still miss him more than absolutely anything. I love you so much, Ashton… #WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

@lrhclouds: You may be gone, but your heart has never been forgotten. Come back to us, Ashton. We love you. #WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

@aloniall: How has it been five years already? Whatever’s hurt you, Ash, we can help. Come home, we miss you… #WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

@theghostofafi: Nothing is the same with you gone, beautiful. Your presence brought a light to our lives that no one can replace. Please come back to us. #WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying, until tears are dripping onto his shirt, clinging to his neck. Swallowing hard, he composes his own tweet.

@Calum5SOS: It’s been five years, mate, and I still can’t stop waking up with an ache in my chest. Hope you’re doing well out there, wherever the world’s taken you. #WeLoveYouAshtonWhereverYouAre

Locking his phone, he slips it into his pocket, and brings his knees up to his chest. Burying his head in them, he tries to compose himself, taking deep breaths to avoid the oncoming sob. 

It’s been so hard to go on without Ashton. Nothing was the same, after he left. The band couldn’t have stayed afloat without him. Ending the band was one of the hardest things Calum’s had to agree to. Accepting that Ashton’s really gone is the hardest. It’s hard to imagine how badly the drummer was suffering, and how blind they were.

He knows Ashton isn’t dead, but it feels like he is. Like he’s gone and never coming back. The realization brings an onslaught of pain that makes his chest ache and his body go numb. He can’t do anything without Ashton. It’s been so fucking difficult to get through these past five years; he honestly doesn’t know how he’s done it. 

While Luke and Michael have been falling in love with each other, Calum has realized how in love he is with the drummer. Ironically enough, it only came to him after Ashton had gone. The saying, “you never know what you have, until it’s gone”, that saying sums up his entire life. Ashton was everything, and Calum didn’t realize how much the older boy meant to him until he packed up and left. 

Ashton is just radiant. Radiant, full of life, full of happiness, the absolute best person in the world. He’s so happy and bubbly and energetic, but at the same time, he’s the sweetest and most sensitive person ever. He was the only one Calum felt like he could fully be himself around. Ashton is the only one – to this day – that knows about Calum’s fears and insecurities, his occasional suicidal thoughts, everything. He’s not suicidal, not by any means, but there were times where he didn’t want to live, where everything got to be too much and he was utterly overwhelmed, but Ashton was there. Ashton brought him back to Earth, kept him grounded, made him feel like life was worth living. 

Ashton was there when he needed him most. The fact that he wasn’t able to help Ashton in his most dire time of need is the biggest regret Calum’s ever had.

…

“I still think this is stupid. Why look for someone who doesn’t want to be found?”

“Fuck the hell off,” Calum growls at Michael, typing furiously. “You don’t have to help. You can get the fuck out if you don’t want to be here. It’s been five fucking years. And he’s had no contact with _anyone_. Not even his family.”

“ _We_ were his family.”

“And we obviously didn’t do a good job of being his family, because he felt so overwhelmed and done with everything, that he just left. If we’d paid more attention, we probably would’ve noticed something wrong.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Are you blaming this on _us_? _He’s_ the one who just packed up and left without saying anything. If he needed us, he should’ve fuckin’ said something.”

“Yeah, because you totally came right out to Luke and me and said, ‘I’m depressed, please help me’,” Calum replies. “It doesn’t fucking work that way, Michael. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Both of you, stop it.” Luke wraps his arms around his seething boyfriend and turns him so Michael can bury his face in his chest. “This isn’t helping anything.” He drags a hand up and down Michael’s back, kissing the top of his head. Michael and Calum fight often – their differing opinions about what Ashton did create so much tension, leaving Luke stuck in the middle. He knows Michael is just upset because Ashton’s disappearance sparked his depression, and he understands how angry his boyfriend is, but Calum has a point. So Luke stays neutral, trying not to upset either of them. 

“Sorry,” Calum says sullenly. “It’s just…five years, and still nothing. What if he’s hurt? What if he hasn’t contacted us because he hasn’t been _able_ to?”

“I doubt that,” Luke replies. “If he was hurt, if he ended up in a hospital, people would’ve recognized him, and we’d know about it by now. They would’ve at least called his mum. His disappearance was a massive media thing.”

Silence falls over the room as they remember it – the day after they announced that Ashton was gone and talked about the band breaking up.

Twitter blew up, which is a gross understatement. It was chaos and agony and Luke barely remembers it, because all three of them spent the day cuddling in bed with their phones off. Contact with the outside world was just too much, that day. They needed each other, and only each other. 

The pain hasn’t stopped in five years. There are so many questions, so many things they want to ask Ashton, so many answers necessary. But nothing can happen unless they find him. 

“Look up his name, it’ll hopefully bring up the last place he’s been seen. We’ll go there and see if we can find him. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Calum does as Luke says, typing Ashton’s name into Google. All three of them stare at the results. 

‘The 5 year anniversary of 5 Seconds of Summer’s drummer Ashton Irwin’s mysterious disappearance’

‘Ashton Irwin has been off the map for 5 years – how has time changed?’

‘Ashton Irwin SPOTTED? The mysterious disappearance of the drummer has shocked us all, until…’

“Click the last one!”

Once the page loads, they all begin skimming readily, trying to look for even a scrap of information on their missing bandmate. 

“New York City?” Michael asks wondrously. “The fuck is he doing there?”

“I can’t believe he actually stayed in America…”

“Do you guys really think he’s still there?” Calum mutters. “This article is from three years ago. I doubt he’s even still living there.”

“It’s _something_ ,” Luke replies. “Weren’t you just preaching to Mikey about how we need to find him and how it’s been five years and all that bull? This is something. We have something to go off of. Let’s go to New York.”

“Alright, say we don’t find him there. Then what?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, gimme the laptop, I’m gonna book us three tickets. Meanwhile, you two, start packing.”

Michael sighs. “Is this really happening? Are we really packing up everything to go to New York to look for our missing bandmate who _doesn’t want to be found_?” 

“People’s minds change, Mikey. Five years is a long time. His mind has to have changed by now. And even if he doesn’t want to see us, all we need to know is that he’s okay. It won’t matter if he wants no contact with us, as long as he’s doing okay.”

…

The flight is long. 

And exhausting.

Michael really doesn’t think any of this is worth it. He’s in a cramped space for sixteen hours, unable to play his video games and eat anything but shitty airplane food. He hates airplanes and he thought he was done flying after the band broke up.

The only good part about this is that he gets sixteen uninterrupted hours with Luke. His boyfriend is currently running hands through his hair, while Michael slumps over onto Luke’s body, clinging to him tightly. 

It’s hard for him to be okay with this. Ashton leaving _broke_ him. The drummer’s mysterious disappearance was really what sparked his depression. It’s hard to blame Ashton for it – but Ashton leaving made Michael start to doubt himself, doubt every damn move he made. Ashton leaving made Michael start to wonder why he wasn’t good enough for the older lad to stay. 

He’s always felt like he didn’t belong – he’s always been the introvert that struggled to make friends. Out of the four of them, it’s clear to say that Michael is the most fragile and struggles the most when it comes to meeting people and being thrust into this life that he never imagined possible. Having three people who loved him unconditionally, no matter how he reacted to what was thrown at him…that was nice. Then Ashton left. And Michael’s still wondering what he did wrong, why Ashton had to leave them.

He didn’t even say goodbye. The mere thought makes Michael’s throat close up. All they got was a stupid, measly note that wasn’t even long enough to be justified as a goodbye. They didn’t get any kind of goodbye. Michael had no idea that the previous words he said to Ashton that day would somehow be his last.

And yeah, they looked. They searched the world for Ashton, even though he’d said not to. None of them were able to accept what was the inevitable truth. When it became clear that they weren’t going to find him and he wasn’t going to come home, Michael broke. When they decided to end the band, Michael shattered. And when it became evident that Ashton didn’t care about them anymore, from his lack of contact, Michael fell to pieces. 

He could never understand. Why he wasn’t good enough for Ashton to stay. What he did wrong to make Ashton leave. It made him doubt everything – maybe he was too loudmouthed, or too blunt, or too sexual with his words, or just an obnoxious dick in general. Maybe Ashton had had enough of his shit, and just decided to be done with it. The amount of doubts that plagued Michael were enormous, like a ten thousand pound weight crushing his chest and making it impossible to breathe. 

He didn’t want to face what was reality. While Luke and Calum were slowly learning to accept life without Ashton, Michael was still wallowing in despair and wishing this wasn’t his life. It became apparent that his problems wouldn’t go away with anyone’s reassurances, even Luke’s.

Therapy seemed like an impossible feat for Michael. He – to this day – doesn’t know how he managed to get to the point where a therapist told him that he didn’t need to come for sessions anymore, that he was as better as she could help him become. A prescription for Zoloft was all he needed to resume semi-normal life. But the fact that he needed therapy still haunts him. He never imagined being fucked up enough to need a shrink and especially never imagined relying on happy pills. Miss a pill, and he’s left with suicidal thoughts and the overwhelming urge to drive a piece of metal into soft flesh.

So yeah, Michael isn’t the happiest camper about this whole ‘going to find Ashton’ journey. Because for him, it means facing the one reason he fell apart in the first place.

…

He can barely walk. 

Ashton’s been trying to shake off the apparent sprained ankle he has all morning, but he’s now seeming to realize how bad off the injury really is. He can put weight on it, but walking causes a lot of pain. There’s no way he’ll be able to work tonight. It’s kinda necessary to be able to walk, and sometimes people end to get a little rough. He has to shut up and take it. It’ll be harder to do that if he’s already in pain from this ankle injury. Fuck.

“One more time…” He gets up, trying to only put weight on his good leg. Using the brick wall behind him, he manages to regain his balance, before gingerly shifting his weight onto his other foot. 

The pain is immediate. It’s not bad enough to have him collapsing or crying out in agony, but it’s bad enough to make him grunt and lean against the wall for support. Goddamn, he’s so fucked. If he can’t walk, he’s probably going to die. Scratch that, he _is_ going to die. He needs to be able to get around; he needs to have some kind of mobility. Otherwise, he’s not going to be able to get food or get money or get drugs, three things he needs to survive. It’s pathetic, all the same, but still extremely necessary because withdrawal is too painful and starvation is too painful and no money means both at the same time. 

He needs some painkillers. Oxycontin would be nice right now, but he’s got no money and no one would give it to him for free. Oxy’s hard to get. There is no person who would give that shit out for free. He doesn’t blame them, either. If he had a stash, he’d charge good money for it. You don’t go through the trouble of stealing drugs and risking getting arrested, to just go give them out for free. You deserve compensation for your efforts. But that principle is really fucking him over right about now.

Tears burn his eyes, as he falls back down, wincing as his injured ankle hits the ground. He lets his head hit the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s not a crier – at least, he’s learned to hold his emotions in, but it’s been four years of this. It only took him a year to waste all the money he had, and he’s been living like this for four fucking years. He’s so exhausted, so hungry, so ready to just fucking call it quits. It’s not fair, that he has to go through this, that he was dealt such a shitty hand.

Reaching blindly into his pocket, he feels around, hoping that the multiple tears in his jeans haven’t caused his blade to fall out. Relief washes over him when he finds it, and he wastes no time. He holds the item to his skin, not even bothering to see if the blade is clean, because if he gets an infection, who gives a damn? He starts slashing at his freshly cut left arm, allowing himself to feel all the pain, as he opens old cuts while creating new ones. This is how he copes when he doesn’t have drugs. It’s harder to just settle for this, but he doesn’t have a choice. He’s ruined his chance for another option. 

He has about 20 dollars stashed for an emergency, but he never really counts that when talking about how much he has, because that’s purely for emergencies. Like, life or death shit. When he’s about to collapse because he’s starved for so long, or when he’s so dehydrated he’s starting to go delirious, or when he’s so badly hurt he can barely move, that’s when he’d use that money. However, it’s starting to look pretty good right about now. 

He’s fucking weak because this isn’t anywhere close to an emergency, but he needs something. He’s nauseous and his head is pounding and he feels utterly awful – all symptoms of withdrawal. He can’t work if he’s like this. 

Yeah, he’s really pathetic for giving in this easily, and all this is gonna do is give him more of a reason to hate himself in the coming days, but he isn’t focused on that anymore. No drugs, he can’t work, and if he can’t work, he can’t eat. It’s even more pathetic that his future rides on whether he has enough money to buy drugs, but that’s the way things are.

Maybe this is karma for leaving the boys. Whatever it is, Ashton doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this. 

…

“I don’t know how bad I wanna find Ash. And I can’t say anything because Cal will flip shit. But I really don’t know if I even want to see him again. He hurt me. So fucking much. It’s been five years, and I probably should be over it by now, but…”

Luke’s heart breaks when he sees tears welling in his boyfriend’s eyes. Michael is looking at him sadly, biting his lip and keeping his head down. It hurts to see him like this. He knows how bad Michael has struggled with all of this. Ashton’s departure broke something in him, caused him to start doubting every move he makes, terrified of the repercussions. 

“Mikey, babe, listen,” Luke says gently, taking the smaller boy’s hands in his, forcing Michael to look at him. “I know Ashton hurt you, and he hurt you bad. You’re allowed to be upset over it. You don’t have to get over anything, just because Calum wants you to. Like he said, he just wants to know Ashton is okay. We don’t have to go any farther than that, but just…do it for Cal, okay?”

“I remember how he used to look at Ashton…” Michael turns, scooting back until he can press his back against Luke’s chest. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s chest, holding him against him, and lets his chin rest on top of the older boy’s head. “Like he was the fucking sun…”

“A lot of people called Ash their sunshine…”

Michael smiles. “Yeah, but it was different for Cal. I’ve never seen him so enamored with someone. He looked at Ashton like no one else was in the room, like there would never be anyone to measure up. He looked at Ashton like I look at you… It was really amazing to see, actually. As much as I don’t really think I’m ready to face Ashton, I’d give anything to see Calum that happy again. And I don’t think there’s anyone else on this planet that can make him as happy as Ashton used to.”

…

“So, how exactly do we do this? We don’t have much to go off of…”

Calum shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. I doubt he’s even here.”

“Shut up, you’re the one who wanted to come all this way, don’t back out now,” Michael mutters. “Why don’t we go to Times Square? We can ask around. A lot of people knew us, back then. Someone has to know something…”

“S’fucking cold out,” Luke comments, as they start walking. He shifts closer to his boyfriend and wraps an arm around Michael’s waist, pulling him in close. “You’re warm, babe.” Michael smiles at him and kisses his neck softly. 

“Please don’t get sexual and make me the awkward third wheel,” Calum grumbles. “Even when you two are almost thirty, you’re still as dirty minded as you were when we were teenagers.”

“Did you expect anything else?” 

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Here, let’s cut through this alley,” Calum continues, motioning toward the run-down, dingy place. “It’s faster. And there’s less people there to recognize us.”

“But there’s also homeless people there, and like…they make me feel so guilty,” Michael replies. “Like, their lives must really fuckin’ suck. I have no idea what that’s like, but I’d never want to live like that.”

“Most of them are drug addicts and alcoholics. Their lives suck because they choose to spend money on pills and booze, rather than the basic necessities of life.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’m not in the mood to debate homeless people with you two right now. Let’s just suck it up and take the shortcut.”

He leads them toward the alley, and inside, but something – or someone, rather – catches his eye.

He’s wearing ripped, dirty, tattered clothes, and he looks like he hasn’t showered in a very long time. His hair is down to his shoulders, messy curls covering his face. What can be seen of his eyes is a heartbreaking sight – the agony residing in them is limitless. There’s bruises and dirt on every open expanse of skin, making him look more broken than anything. He’s sitting against a brick wall, looking hazily forward, not really focusing. His appearance is so drastically different from what he used to look like, but he isn’t hard to recognize.

“Holy motherfucking shit…”

“Is that really…”

“Oh my fucking god…”

Shakily, Calum walks over to the man and kneels down in front of him. The next words out of his mouth seem so foreign – he’s unable to associate the man in front of him with the name on the tip of his tongue. His brain isn’t working at all, especially not to try and make sense of this situation. “…Ashton…?”

The man blinks dazedly and meets his gaze. He doesn’t look like he’s entirely with it – the hazy look in his eyes makes him look utterly distant and far gone. “M’not…not workin’ today…not even blowjobs…too sore, too tired, hurts too much…come back ‘morrow…an’ I’ll help you out…”

…

Everything Calum has ever assumed about Ashton’s whereabouts in the past five years has been shattered, after hearing that. 

He looks to Luke and Michael, shaking too hard to even address Ashton. He can barely breathe, the pain in his chest is far too immense. This is unbelievable. “He…he doesn’t mean what I think he means…does he?”

“I think he does,” Michael says softly. “He’s a prostitute, Cal. That’s his job.” Michael lets go of Luke and joins Calum in front of Ashton, just staring for a few moments, taking in the reality that is their former bandmate.

“Ashton? Can you hear me? It’s me, Mikey. And Cal’s here with me, and Luke is over there behind us.” He waves his hand in front of Ashton’s face to get his attention, trying to get through to him. 

“N-No…g’way…wanna wake up, wanna wake up…” Ashton mumbles, effectively managing to shatter Michael’s already broken heart.

Seeing as Calum is unable to even process the situation, Michael takes point, grabbing one of Ashton’s bruised, dirty, calloused hands in his own. “You’re not dreaming, Ash… This, this is real. Me, Cal, and Luke are real. And we’re here. And you’re gonna be okay, alright? Do you understand? You’re gonna be okay.”

“He’s high, Michael,” Luke says from behind, a bitter edge evident in his voice. “He’s high as a fuckin’ kite.”

The harsh tone of Luke’s voice seems to startle Ashton. He snatches his hand away from Michael’s and shrinks back against the wall, bringing an arm up to shield his face. “Don’…m’sorry…”

“Shut up Luke,” Michael shoots back, equally as harsh. “You’re scaring him. We need to be gentle with him.”

“Why? He’s high on some illegal drug, and from the looks of things, homeless. And he’s a fucking _prostitute_. You’re telling me he left us, he left a life he’d always dreamed of, for _this_?”

Michael gets to his feet, his eyes starting to burn with tears when Ashton’s face falls. It breaks his heart to know that Ashton’s scared of being left alone, even though the time he’s spent with the older lad is so miniscule. The poor thing is craving human contact, something he looks to have not had in a while. “I’ll be right back, Ash. Hang on.”

He storms over to his boyfriend and pulls him off to the side. “Yes, alright, I get that he looks awful right now, and it doesn’t seem like he left us for much at all. But you don’t know his story. You don’t know why. You don’t know anything about him. For all you know, this could’ve been a one time thing. You have no idea what he’s been through in these five years, and if you’re gonna keep acting like this, go back to the hotel and sulk. Right now, he’s high, and he’s _scared_. And yes, he’s a prostitute and yes, it does seem like he’s homeless, but do we know why? No. Then we don’t have the right to judge him. He’s our best friend, our brother, and he needs our help. And I’ll be damned if we don’t give it to him.”

…

He can’t differentiate between reality and fantasy at this point.

If he’s in reality right now…if what’s happening before him is truly real…he must be in heaven. There’s no fucking way that his former bandmates are standing in front of him right now. There’s no fucking way that they’ve managed to _find_ him, after five years. He can’t even see how this is possible. 

Even in his foggy, drug-ridden state, Ashton can tell Luke is looking at him with disdain. He doesn’t blame the blond. No one would’ve expected something like this, hell, he didn’t expect this to be his own life. He’s fucked it up, royally, like he always does, so he can’t blame Luke for being mad at him.

Calum is an utterly different story. The younger lad is sitting off to the side, his head buried in his knees. Ashton can detect faint cries, and he feels for Calum, he really does, but he doesn’t have the strength to move from where he’s sitting to go comfort him. He doubts Calum would even want the comfort of a homeless, smelly drug-addict with no respect for himself.

“Ash? You with me?” He’s brought back to the present with Michael’s voice, dizzily managing to focus on the black-haired lad. He wonders if Michael’s still dyeing his hair, or if he’s decided to just keep it black, just as Michael starts to talk in a soft voice. Good thing too, his head is fucking killing. 

“We’re going to take you back to our hotel, alright?” Michael says gently. “You can take a shower, and change into some clean clothes, and you’ll feel better.”

Panicked fear overtakes Ashton at that. He shakes his head vigorously and tries to curl further into a wall – which is quite futile, seeing as walls are not like blankets and one can only back so far into them. “N-No…you go…I’ll stay here…”

“We’re not leaving you out here, Ash,” Michael says firmly. “We want to help you. You don’t have to live like this any longer. You don’t deserve it.”

“N-No. I d-do. L-left. Broke up the b-band.” He’s shaking so hard he can barely speak coherently, and he can feel tears starting to pour down his cheeks. “G-Go. Let me die the w-way I d-deserve to…”

“Ash, please come with us.” Calum lifts his head, his tearstained face startling Ashton. Why is he crying? He doesn’t have anything to cry over. “Let us take care of you. You need help, and we can help you. We want to know what happened, how you got to be like this, and we’re hoping you’ll be able to tell us sometime…”

Ashton contemplates. Weighing the pros and cons is a no brainer, but he really doesn’t know if he’s ready for them to see the broken, fucked up, damaged, drug-addicted, suicidal mess that he’s become. They have no idea what the true extent of his problems really are, or how they started, or anything. He doesn’t think they want to know.

“C-Can’t walk properly…think I s-sprained my ankle couple days ago…hurts to walk…”

Calum holds out a hand. “I’ll help you. You can use me as a crutch.” 

Calum helps him up, and it takes all of Ashton’s strength not to let himself fall on the other lad. 

“Shit, Ash…you look like you’re about to pass out…”

Ashton opens his mouth to say something, but he’s too dizzy and it’s too hard. He can’t see straight, and he doesn’t know whether that’s the drugs or just his starved, dehydrated mind. Everything hurts, and he can feel himself falling. 

And then everything goes dark.

…

It’s really hard to believe that the lad in his arms was previously one of the happiest, most bubbly people ever. 

Ashton is so fucking light, it’s scary. He doesn’t weigh anything – at least, that’s what it feels like. Calum lays him down on one of the double beds in their hotel room, sighing sadly as the lad barely stirs. 

“Now what?” He mumbles, collapsing on the other bed.

“When he wakes up, he’ll take a shower, change into some clean clothes, and once the drugs wear off, we can talk to him properly. Get to the bottom of this,” Michael replies immediately. “You wanted to find him, and now we have. None of us ever imagined that we’d find him like this, but he’s safe with us now. We have him back.”

“Why are you so into this now?” Luke asks sullenly. “You were so adamant on not wanting to see him and not being ready to face him, what the hell changed?”

Michael’s face seems to go blank then, his eyes going some kind of dull. He’s silent for a few minutes, like he’s contemplating how to say what it is he has to say.

“I had a brother.” His voice holds no emotion when he speaks next; it’s just monotone and dull. “He was seven years older than me. And he was the best brother I could’ve ever asked for. Everything I’d ever dreamed of. He was there whenever I needed him. He was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. He was the only person who understood me, the only person I could talk to about anything. He was my rock, as I grew up.”

Michael swallows hard. “When he graduated, he came here to go to college. He went to NYU, a university that’s not far from here. I was 10 when he graduated, I was still young. Being in this new country, with new people, the new atmosphere, everything, he was pressured into doing cocaine. From cocaine, it went to heroin, then weed and narcotics. He used to come home and act so distant – he’d changed. He died of a drug overdose just before he graduated, when I was 14.

Ashton was so much like him,” Michael continues. “Their personalities are extremely similar. It’s why I kinda connected with Ashton first, and why he knew me better than you two. I wasn’t in love with him, not by any means. He was like an older brother, kinda like a sign that Andrew was gone, and Ashton was going to replace him as the older brother in my life. And now…this…I can’t let what happened to Andrew happen to Ash. I won’t. He hurt me, yeah, but there was obviously something that led him to leaving, and I want to find out what it was.”

Michael sighs heavily. “I was too young to help Andrew. I couldn’t have done anything. But I’m an adult now. And I can help Ashton. So I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring him out of this. And yeah, it’ll be hard, but the difficulty it’ll bring for me is nothing compared to how hard Ash is going to have it. And I’m going to be there every single step of the way.”

…

When he wakes, he finds himself in an atmosphere that he likens to heaven. He’s in a warm bed with the covers pulled over him and he’s just woken up from one of the best sleeps he’s ever had. 

Everything is hazy – the drugs are finally wearing off, and he can remember what just happened. It doesn’t feel real. It’s hard to even think about. How can the boys have found him? How did they even find him? It’s been five years; they can’t have just coincidentally decided to come to New York. 

He made sure to keep his whereabouts secret and cover his tracks. He didn’t want to be recognized. The fact that they boys have found him, despite all of this, is truly astounding. 

“Ash? Can you hear me?”

He sits up groggily, nodding. “Yeah…guess you want an explanation…?”

Michael is looking at him with soft, gentle eyes, and Ashton is immediately comforted by his warming presence. He’s not hesitant, like Calum, or hostile, like Luke. He doesn’t look like he’ll judge, no matter what Ashton says. That’s something he’s always loved about Michael. He sees the good in everyone, even when there isn’t any. 

“How about you have a shower and change into some clean clothes first?” Michael offers. “You can borrow some shit of mine.”

“I’m too big,” Ashton whispers, not recognizing the sound of his own voice at this point. It hurts to talk and he’s never sounded this bad before.

“My stuff would probably be loose on you…” Michael says sadly, shaking his head. “You’re really thin, Ash. You weigh almost nothing. My clothes are the smallest out of all of ours, that’s why I’m offering.”

Confusion flows through him, leaving him to stare at Michael in wonder. He must be dreaming, because no one is ever this nice to the homeless drug-addict. No one is ever this warm and welcoming and homely to the fuck up who decided to ruin his life with narcotics and cocaine. It just doesn’t happen. 

If this is a dream, he wants to savor it for as long as he can. It’s like when he was given the leftover steak from a very sweet couple’s dinner. He savored that piece of meat like he hadn’t seen food in days – which he hadn’t, at that point, it’d been at least two and a half days since he’d last eaten. He’s not one to waste any luxury given to him, at this point, because he knows how hard it is to live with absolutely nothing.

…

“He looks like shit.”

Luke doesn’t mince words, as soon as Ashton’s disappeared and the shower has turned on. Michael rolls his eyes and lays back on one of the beds, stretching out an arm and shielding his eyes.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t look too great if you’ve been sleeping on the streets for years, you don’t have room to judge him.”

Luke sighs. “I know I’m being an ass, I just…I don’t understand this. I don’t understand it at all. I mean, I know why you want to help him, Mikey, but I just wanna know why he got himself into this. What was so important to him that it took priority over us, over the band? The band was his life; he loved every moment we got. Why give it all up?”

“He was hurting,” Calum mumbles. “He said so. In his note. He said he was overwhelmed and hurting and everything got to be too much for him. Sometimes, fame’s not all it cracked up to be. Your boyfriend can tell you that firsthand.”

“It’s fucking hard, Luke,” Michael says in agreement. “And we all know he used to cut himself in high school. The feeling of wanting to hurt yourself…it never goes away completely. There are always days where you’re considering relapsing. That’s probably what happened to him. His depression was striking back with a vengeance.” 

“Are you psychic now? You don’t know what happened to him, you can’t make assumptions like that.”

“They’re not assumptions. Michael’s right.”

All of their heads swivel to the entrance of their hotel room, where the bathroom is subsequently located. Ashton’s standing outside of the door, a dark, haunted look in his eyes. He looks uncharacteristically distant – they’ve never seen him that detached before. He’s still favoring his left foot, but it doesn’t look like the pain is as bad as it probably has been. 

“Michael’s right,” Ashton repeats hollowly. “I know you all have doubts…about where I’ve been, what the fuck happened, all of that… I’m willing to tell you everything, I just…want to wait, because you’ll hate me afterward, and I just got you guys back…I’m not ready for this to end just yet.”

…

The shower is one of the best things ever.

Ashton’s able to finally feel like he’s not utterly dirty. He’s been fucked so many times since his last shower, and each time has brought a new layer of dirt to cake over the old, stripping him of any semblance of peace. Knowing he’s allowed himself to get this far, that he’s gotten pathetic enough to have to resort to prostitution…it makes him physically sick. The thought, at least. Maybe that’s why he spent a good ten minutes vomiting, before actually showering. Not that he had anything to come up, besides the acidic burn of stomach acid. 

As he dries off and pulls on Michael’s clothes – which, the black-haired lad is right, they are big on him – he hears them talking outside. Of course it’s about him, he didn’t expect anything less. He doesn’t blame them. They need time to process this. Anyone would.

_“It’s fucking hard, Luke. And we all know he used to cut himself in high school. The feeling of wanting to hurt yourself…it never goes away completely. There are always days where you’re considering relapsing. That’s probably what happened to him. His depression was striking back with a vengeance.”_

_“Are you psychic now? You don’t know what happened to him, you can’t make assumptions like that.”_

He chooses that moment to jump in on the conversation, and for once, he’s honest with them. This is going to end, eventually, they’re gonna kick him back out onto the streets, and telling them what’s gone on in the past five years will only speed up the process. Call him greedy, but he’s not ready to let go of this just yet.

A look of unease drifts over Michael’s face, as he answers. “Okay, how about we fill you in on what you’ve missed in five years? Trust me, it’s a lot.”

Ashton nods numbly, forcing a smile when Michael pats the few inches of empty space on the bed. He and Luke are curled on one of them, and Calum is sitting on the one Ashton just slept in, considering it’s still unmade and messy. An apologetic glance crosses his face as he ignores Michael and goes over to sit next to Calum.

“I’m so sorry, Cal,” he whispers, when he’s within earshot. “I never meant to hurt you the way I did.”

Calum looks at him with bloodshot eyes and reddened cheeks, but he’s smiling. “I know. But you’re home now, and that’s all that matters.”

…

Michael hates the way Ashton flinches when Calum goes to wrap an arm around him. He hates how bad he can see the eldest boy shaking, hates how broken Ashton visibly is. And that’s nothing compared to the hell probably going on in his mind. God, everything’s so fucked up. 

“Mikey and I are dating,” Luke says, wrapping an arm around Michael’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss the side of his head.

Ashton smiles at that, a genuine smile that shows his teeth. God, Michael’s missed those smiles. “That’s fuckin’ awesome, guys. I’m really happy for you.” He glances at Calum. “How about you? Anyone special in your life?”

Hurt flickers in Calum’s eyes. “No, I…I haven’t found the right person yet.”

“That’s cool,” Ashton replies. “I’m sure someone out there would be the absolute luckiest person ever, to be with you for the rest of their life.”

Calum swallows hard, and it makes Michael’s heart ache. It’s no secret that Calum’s heart only beats for the boy beside him, but Ashton seems absolutely oblivious. With good reason, clearly, but it doesn’t change how sad Calum looks. 

“Hi or Hey records took off, after the band ended,” Michael continues. “We signed a bunch more acts, and tried to do everything possible to make their dreams come true, give ‘em the same opportunities we had. Right now, we’re not really doing much. Luke and Cal do a lot of work at the studio, in terms of writing and shit. Sometimes we sing backing on some groups’ songs. Me…I just kinda hang out. We bought a house, the three of us, and I have my own kinda mancave type room, so I usually hang there. I’ve sorta clammed up…”

“You’re living with them?” Ashton asks incredulously, disregarding every part of the story expect that one, looking at Calum. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Horridly,” Calum grumbles, glaring at Luke and Michael. “I don’t remember the last time I didn’t hear headboards hitting the wall.”

“Fuck you too,” Luke replies, as Michael leans his head on the blond’s shoulder. “We’re not that bad.”

“Yeah, you’re worse.” Calum turns to Ashton and sighs dramatically, looking like he’s just endured a war, rather than been forced to live in the same house as a couple. “It’s a nightmare. The PDA makes me want to vomit. They make me want to vomit in general.”

“Now you’re just taking the piss.”

“He deserves to know the hell I’ve put up with from you two!”

“We’re not that bad!”

“I feel like I’m third-wheeling my entire life!”

“So nothing’s changed,” Ashton says, laughing weakly. “Five years, and you guys haven’t changed a bit.”

…

“What happened with you, Ash?” 

Ashton swallows, inching the sleeve of Michael’s jumper up to fiddle with his wrist. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning would be nice,” Luke says softly. “From the night you left.”

Ashton sighs. “I…that was a long time coming…”

_The night of the last show of their tour is bittersweet. Ashton watches Luke, Michael, and Calum file out of the house, going to probably get drunk and celebrate finishing the tour. Normally, he’d be following, talking animatedly with them and getting just as drunk. He can remember the times when he used to do that. He remembers the times when he was just like them, carefree, uninhibited, not having to worry about everything._

_There’s a lot they don’t tell you about fame. They don’t tell you how draining it is, to be in the spotlight all the time. They don’t tell you that you have no private life, and that anything you say can and will be used against you. It’s like you don’t have a life anymore, aside from the life you showcase to everyone. And being famous is nice – it’s nice to not have to worry about the little things. It’s nice to produce music that makes so many fans happy, that keeps so many of them alive. Knowing he’s the reason some people are still alive is an indescribable feeling._

_But it’s hard and it’s draining and just so exhausting. It takes so much out of him, and he doesn’t think he has anything left to give._

_He’s been thinking about doing something like this for a long time. The only thing that’s stopped him is the boys, and how it’d affect them. But it’s gotten to the point where the suicidal thoughts are heinous, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. He doesn’t want to kill himself. But staying here any longer may leave that as his only option._

_He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the healing fresh cuts. He never thought he’d resort back to this. He thought it was over when he stopped after joining the band. He didn’t think any of this would come back. The depression, the suicidal thoughts, the self-harm, he thought he was done with it all. Guess not._

_He’s been toying with the idea of just leaving for a while now. This seems like the best time to do it. The tour’s over, they have a break now, he doesn’t have anything tying him to this place. The boys aren’t going to react well, but it’s time for him to prioritize his health over theirs. He’s lived his life being extremely selfless, and now it’s finally time for him to care about himself more than he cares about everyone else. It’s time to put himself first._

_Packing takes a long time, and he’s crying throughout the time he’s doing it. It’s hard to swallow – the thought of doing this. He can’t imagine himself actually going through with it. There’s a part of him that feels like he’s going to regret it, but the part of him that needs to get out is much stronger. He feels like he’s suffocating, he needs to go. He needs to be alone. Out of the spotlight. This is all too much._

_The note he writes is hasty. He doesn’t want to put too much emotion into it. That’ll give him even more second thoughts, and he just can’t deal with any more of those right now. The boys will understand. Hopefully, they won’t come looking for him. He’ll go somewhere that they’ll never suspect, so they’ll never find him. He doesn’t want to be found. He just hopes they understand that._

_He leaves the note on his bed, choking back a sob as he looks across at Calum’s empty one. Hopefully Calum won’t find it until tomorrow, too drunk tonight to bother. He doesn’t want to ruin tonight. He doesn’t want to cause any more pain than he’s already causing. He knows this is a wrong decision, but he’s starting not to care. He’s been in pain for much too long, long enough for him to decide he doesn’t deserve to live like this._

_Hefting his bag over one shoulder, he brushes the tears from his eyes angrily. It’s futile, because more tears well up, his vision blurring in front of him. He can barely see as he navigates to the front of their house, turning around and surveying it for the last time._

_There were so many good memories in this house. Memories he’ll never forget. There were so many fun times here, so many times he felt like he was on cloud fucking nine. Too bad his last memory is going to be the most painful._

_He swallows once more, opening the door, and closes it behind him without a second thought._

“I was so suicidal,” Ashton whispers, his voice monotone and barely audible. “We’d go sightseeing, and ever bridge I saw, I wanted to jump off of. Every body of water made me contemplate how long it’d take for me to drown in it. I was such a mess. I could barely drag myself out of bed to go do photoshoots and interviews and play shows at night. I was so surprised when none of you noticed…didn’t think I was that good of an actor. Everything kinda just…sucked. I felt like I was suffocating, and I needed to get out.”

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I never meant to hurt you guys. Really. That’s what kept me from leaving sooner. I’d toyed with the idea for months on end, wondering whether I should even bother. At the last minute, it was either leave, or kill myself. I didn’t want to kill myself. I wanted to die, but I didn’t want to kill myself…I don’t know how much sense that makes. You probably don’t understand. That’s okay. I didn’t understand me then either. All I knew was that I had to go.”

“Ash…” Luke chokes out. “Ash, if you were really feeling this bad, why didn’t you come to one of us? We would’ve helped you, held you, made you feel like you mattered. You _did_. You mattered so much…you still do…”

Ashton laughs bitterly, no humor in the sound. “You really think I didn’t think about it? I wanted to, believe me, I did. But I’d always felt kinda detached from you guys, because you grew up together. Mike, you and Cal have been friends for over fifteen years. And Luke, you went to school with them, so you were in on it too. You three had this bond, this friendship, that I could never share. I felt left out. I didn’t think you’d miss me. After all, you had each other.”

“Oh my god…” Calum’s face crumples, and he brings his hands up to cover it. His sobs are audible, breaking all their hearts in synchronization. 

“Ash…you…you could’ve said something…” Michael replies. “You could’ve told us you were feeling that way…we would’ve included you more…”

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Ashton says. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. The night I left…I cut so bad that night I passed out. I hated myself so much for what I did. It wasn’t fair to put you guys through that because I was struggling. I was so pissed at myself, for days on end.”

“Where’d you go?” Luke’s voice sounds so small, foreign. He doesn’t sound at all like himself. “Have you been living in New York all this time?”

Ashton nods. “Yeah, I…I bought a house as soon as I got here. I decided to come here because I thought it’d be uncommon, like you’d never think to find me here. You’d assume I went back to Sydney, not that I decided to stay. So, I bought a house away from everything, hired people to cook, clean, buy my groceries, all that. And I hid out. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I drank a lot. I wanted to forget.”

“I drank so much, I almost got alcohol poisoning and blacked out a few times,” Ashton continues. “It was mainly because I kept reading headlines about how miserable you guys were, how miserable the fans were…all because of me. It was all my fault. I _hated_ myself. I still hate myself just as much for that.”

“How did you end up on the streets?” Calum asks hoarsely, lifting his head and using his palms to wipe his face. “You just said you bought a house…”

“And then the money ran out,” Ashton says darkly. “And I had nothing. I had to let go of the people who were helping me, and sell the house. Couple months later, I had no money at all. It’d been about a year since I’d left by that point.”

“…you’ve been homeless for _four_ years?” Michael chokes out. “ _Why_? Why didn’t you come home?”

“I was an alcoholic, and I’d just started getting into drugs. My arms were a mess, my mind was a mess, and I didn’t want to see anyone.” He smiles weakly. “And do you really think my mum imagined someone like this to be her firstborn? I couldn’t go back, Mikey. I was already too far gone. No one would recognize me, after what I’d done to myself.”

“You still could’ve come…” Michael whispers. “We could’ve helped you…you just had to tell us you needed it. We could’ve helped you…”

“That’s the thing, Mikey,” Ashton says gently. “I didn’t want help. I wanted to destroy myself. So I did.”

“W-What does that mean?”

“It means, I started working as a prostitute,” Ashton replies gravely. “I needed money. I didn’t want to be recognized, and prostitutes work the night. I didn’t want a job that involved effort and talking to people – I knew I’d be recognized. The money went to drugs. Being high was the only way I could stomach what I was allowing people to do to me.” He swallows hard, like telling us this is making him physically sick. “I let people treat me like the piece of shit I was. I let people beat me up. I let people do whatever they wanted to me. I was so addicted to the drugs, I couldn’t help it.”

“Ash…”

“It gets worse,” Ashton mutters. “Sometimes I’d go two, three days without eating. I was so fucking _hungry_. I kept cutting, and when I didn’t have enough for drugs, I took my pain out on my arms instead. I let people rape me, fucking gang rape me. I didn’t care. Not about me, not about my life, not about anything. I wanted to die. I was so miserable, in so much pain, being homeless is one of the worst possible things that could’ve ever happened to me. I was so pissed at myself, at the world, at everything. Nothing made sense. I regretted my decision to leave. But I knew I couldn’t come back. I was a homeless drug-addicted prostitute, what kind of mother would want that as her son? What kind of person would want that as their friend? I couldn’t go back. And I had no money to go anywhere else. I lived in alleys, injected heroin and did coke, just trying to make it another day.” He pauses here, rolling up both sleeves and showing them the extent of the damage. Both of his arms are covered in scars and fresh cuts, some still caked with dried blood. It’s horrifying – seeing what he’s done to himself. 

Recovering his arms, he continues. “Sometimes it’d be a game. I’d test myself, see how long I could survive without food or water. I set aside 20 bucks for absolute emergencies, like when I was on the brink of death from starvation or dehydration or I could physically not function without the drugs. And then I sprained my ankle, fucked it up somehow, and I couldn’t work. No work meant no money, which meant no food or drugs or anything. So I spent my last 20, the emergency money I had, on oxycontin. That’s why I was high when you found me. That’s what I was high on.”

“Ashton…” Luke whispers. “Fucking hell, Ash…I’m so sorry I was such a dick. I had no idea…and no room to judge you. That was insensitive and stupid and wrong, I’m so sorry.”

Ashton says nothing, instead holding his arms open. “Unless you don’t wanna hug the homeless person…I’d understand. I have a billion germs and I feel like utter shit right now, don’t wanna get you sick too…”

“Shut up,” Luke says fiercely, getting onto the other bed and pulling Ashton into his arms. He buries his head in the other lad’s shoulder, holding him as tight as he can. “I missed you so much. We all did. We never stopped looking. Even though you didn’t want us to. We missed you so much.”

…

“Cal, why are you still cuddled up to me? I’m sick and diseased and germy as hell…I don’t want you getting sick.”

Calum shakes his head and presses a kiss to the other boy’s temple. “You can’t tell us something like that and not expect love. You’ve been through hell and back, multiple times. You’re not gonna be alone anymore. Not if we can help it.”

“Mikey, you need to tell him,” Luke murmurs, pulling Michael closer. “He deserves to know.”

“Tell me what?” Ashton asks softly, glancing from Luke to Michael. “What else have I missed…? I don’t want to be in the dark for any longer…”

“I can’t,” Michael whispers. “You’ll blame yourself…it’s not your fault, but you’re not going to take it well…”

“Try me,” Ashton says, a challenging look in his eyes. “After what I’ve been through, nothing surprises me.”

“I’ve been diagnosed with depression,” Michael mutters. “And I’ve cut a couple times, it’s nothing major. But I’ve had suicidal thoughts. It all started…when you left… I didn’t cope very well. I thought you left because I wasn’t worth staying for…”

“Oh, Mikey…” Ashton sighs. He pulls away from Calum, and limps over to the other bed. Luke lets Michael go, and Ashton pulls him in for a hug, holding him close.

“I love you. So much,” Ashton murmurs. “None of this was your fault. None of it. If anything, you were one of the biggest reasons I had to stay. I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through that…it’s horrible and fuckin’ agonizing and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially you…”

Michael molds his body to Ashton’s smaller one, holding the older boy like he’s going to disappear in the next couple seconds. “I’m so sorry,” he cries, burying further into Ashton’s shoulder. “I missed you so much. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Shhhh,” Ashton soothes. “Yes you were. You were more than strong enough. You did the best you could. What I did was awful, and I am so sorry. I had no idea it’d affect you this much. None of it was your fault. None of it. You’re absolutely wonderful, Mikey. I can see why Luke loves you so much. You’ve been so sweet to me this entire time…I can’t thank you enough.”

…

The boys see the true effects of Ashton’s drug addiction a couple days later.

He wakes up sweating, shaking hard, unable to stop. The shaking is violent, and he looks like he’s been drenched in water from how badly he’s sweating. The vomiting soon follows. He heaves violently, throwing up all the contents of his stomach, mixed with acid that burns his throat and makes him absolutely miserable.

“You think you’re done now?” Calum asks gently, dabbing at Ashton’s sweaty forehead with a cold cloth. Ashton nods weakly, and Calum takes the bucket away, setting it on the ground to clean later. He flips the cloth over to the clean side, and uses it to wipe the lad’s mouth. “Feel any better?”

“I want to die,” Ashton croaks. “I hate withdrawal. I feel so bad…”

“You’ll feel better soon,” Calum murmurs. “Scoot over. Let me hold you.”

“I just puked, Cal,” Ashton whispers. “I feel like shit and I smell no better. You don’t want to touch me right now.”

“I do,” Calum insists. He flips the cloth over again, and lays it against Ashton’s forehead, before squirming into the bed next to the ill lad. “Come here, it’s okay.”

“I did this to myself,” Ashton whimpers. “Why are you helping me? I brought this upon myself.”

“You’ve been in a bad place. For years now. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know what else to do. But we’re here now, and we’re going to help you. You’re never gonna feel like this again.”

Ashton gags dryly, a sour taste overcoming his mouth. “Oh god…”

“Shhh,” Calum soothes. “Come on, just sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” He coaxes the older lad to lay his head on his chest, and Calum winds his arms around Ashton’s skinny waist. Rubbing up and down his back seems to help, because Calum finally feels Ashton’s breathing deepen against him. The poor thing. He’s suffering so much, and it really hurts to see. 

“How’s he doing?”

Calum sighs. “He keeps throwing up. This is really hitting him hard.”

“He’s in withdrawal from Oxycontin, Cal,” Luke tells him sadly. “Oxy’s one of the most dangerous and easily addictive drugs. And the withdrawal symptoms are absolutely awful. It’ll be at least a week before this subsides.”

“Goddamn,” Michael mutters, speaking my own thoughts. “He looks like he’s in a lot of pain.”

“He is. He keeps puking and sweating and he can’t sleep properly. I feel so bad for him. I wish there was something we could give him to help him.”

“He’s a drug-addict, Cal. We can’t give him anything. The entire point of this is to get him _off_ the drugs. Giving him _anything_ would make it so much harder for him.”

“So, what, I’m just supposed to sit here and watch him suffer?”

“You’re doing everything you can. Holding him, being there for him…that’s all you can do. And Mikey and I bought some good food, ice packs, and things to make it a little easier on him. I doubt he’ll feel up to eating, though.”

“You guys are too loud…” A weak cry of pain is heard, and Calum turns to the boy resting on his chest. 

“Did we wake you? Shit, sorry…”

“Didn’t really sleep,” Ashton mumbles. “Can’t. Too uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to move?”

“No, stay.” Ashton curls further into him. “You’re making me feel better…”

“You want something to eat?” Luke asks gently. “We got some soup and shit, it’ll be easy on your stomach.”

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” Ashton replies. “And my stomach hurts. So fucking bad.”

“What? You never mentioned that…”

“S’a common withdrawal symptom. Relentless stomach pain.” Ashton squeezes his eyes shut and shifts a bit. “It hurts.”

“Just relax, baby,” Calum murmurs, the pet name slipping out without him even realizing it. Ashton doesn’t seem to mind, so Calum settles for continuing with the sweet words, running his hand through the boy’s messy hair, just trying to calm him down.

…

“Let’s buy a house.”

Ashton looks at Michael incredulously. “You guys live in Sydney. Why would you want to buy a house here?” He punctuates the sentence with a harsh cough, bringing a hand to his chest. “Fuck.”

“You’re obviously not well enough to travel, and the boys and I have talked about getting a place in America for a while, ever since we sold our LA house.”

Ashton freezes, tears welling up in his eyes. “You…you want me to stay? To come home with you? After all I’ve done?”

“The fact that you thought we wouldn’t want you is ridiculous, babe,” Calum murmurs, rubbing his back gently. “Take it easy. That cough does not sound good.”

“You still want me…?”

“Of course we still want you, you fucking idiot,” Luke replies. “Why wouldn’t we? We came all the way here to find you and bring you home. We’ve missed you so much.”

“I…I’ve missed you guys too,” Ashton whispers sadly. “I’ve cried myself to sleep a lot. I’ve missed home a lot.”

“You don’t have to miss it anymore,” Michael promises. “Once you’re well enough to travel, we’ll take you home. You can move in to our house. We have a couple extra bedrooms, it’ll be perfect.”

Ashton is freely crying now, tears making their way down his cheeks and clinging to his neck. His joy is contagious. Knowing he doesn’t have to live on the streets anymore, that his life of starvation and desperation and agony is over…it must be overwhelming. Calum pulls the boy to his chest, and Ashton continues to sob, hiding his face.

“Oh, baby…you don’t have to cry. You’re safe now, it’s okay.”

“I never…” Ashton hiccups, swallowing. “Never thought this would ever happen. Thought I’d die out there. Alone. And you’d never know about it. All traces of me would be gone.” More tears flood his cheeks and he grips onto Calum harder, making the other boy’s heart ache. This is so heartbreaking to watch.

“We’re not leaving you,” Michael says softly, leaning down so he’s level with Ashton. “It took so long to find you, you’re crazy if you think we’re ever gonna leave your side again.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Stop that,” Luke chides. “You’ve apologized enough for a lifetime. We’ve already said we understand. You don’t need to be sorry. All you need to focus on is getting better. That’s it. We’ll handle the rest.”

…

It gets worse, before it gets better. 

Ashton is in so much pain, begging to die, and Calum doesn’t know how much longer he can cope with this. It’s been almost a week since they found him, and the symptoms are slowly starting to get better, but he’s in withdrawal not only from oxycontin, but heroin, cocaine, and self-harm. He’s in a constant state of pain, and it seriously breaks Calum’s heart. He wishes he could do so much more for the poor thing, but all he can do is hold Ashton tightly, trying to keep him safe and protect him from the demons. 

“Let me die, Cal,” Ashton whimpers. “Everything hurts. I want to be dead.”

“No, no you don’t.” Calum’s voice is shaking as he replies, smoothing Ashton’s hair back. “You’ve survived this long. You’ve survived being beaten and raped and starving and being without water for days, you can survive this. You can do it, baby. I believe in you.”

“I don’t feel good…” Ashton’s tears spill over once more. “I can’t stop crying…and I don’t feel good at all…”

“Calm down,” Calum murmurs. “You’re okay. Breathe for me. Focus on that. Just breathe. In, and out. In, and out.” He coaches Ashton softly, trying to get the boy to focus on something other than how much pain he’s in. “There you go, you’re okay.”

“Why did I do this to myself?” Ashton moans. “Why am I such a fuck up?”

“You’re not, you’re not, shhhh.”

Calum leans in, brushing his lips against Ashton’s hesitantly. Ashton kisses back, letting his eyes drift shut. They only pull away when they need air, but Calum rests a hand on Ashton’s cheek, smiling at him.

“Was that…okay?”

“Why would you kiss me?” Ashton mutters dejectedly. “You don’t like me. You don’t want to be with me. I’m nothing. I’m homeless and addicted to drugs and destroying myself and I’m nothing!”

“Hey, don’t talk about the person I love like that,” Calum chides. “You’re beautiful. You’ve been through so much, and it has only made you stronger. I do like you, and I do want to be with you. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Ash…from before you even left. And I haven’t felt like this toward anyone else, even when you were gone. Isn’t that love?”

“Why would you want to be with me?”

“Because I think you’re beautiful. You’re absolutely radiant, and you make me so happy.”

“I’m not beautiful. I smell terrible, I look like a hobo, and I’ve lived on the fuckin’ streets for the past four fuckin’ years. Not to mention, I’ve had sex with more people than I can count, I’ve been raped…what part of this is beautiful to you?”

“You’ve been through hell and back. You’ve had so much shitty luck. But that doesn’t change how beautiful of a person you are. And I know it’ll take you a long time to recover, and I want to be there every step of the way, if you’ll have me…”

“You’ve been the only thing keeping me sane…” Ashton mumbles. “Would’ve killed myself because of this fucking withdrawal a while back, if it weren’t for you. You’re giving me a reason to stay. To stay alive.”

“Does that mean you’ll be my boyfriend?” 

Ashton’s face breaks out into a wide smile, his dimples showing, making him look absolutely adorable. “If you really want me. I’d love to.”

…

They move into their house a couple weeks later.

It’s pretty big, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, studio, beautiful living room, dining room, kitchen, everything. Michael and Luke go for one of the bedrooms, and Ashton and Calum take the other. The other two rooms are going to be used for different things – Michael’s reserving one for his mancave, and the other’s going to become a game room. The studio is perfect for having new artists come record – it’s everything they’ve always wanted.

They’re still keeping Ashton hidden from the press. He doesn’t need to become the next story right now, he’s still trying to recover and getting used to all the luxuries he didn’t have when he was living on the streets. Most of the withdrawal symptoms are gone, so that’s good. He’s not in nearly as much pain as he used to be, which is great.

It’s starting to look up.

 _One month later_

“Ash, babe, where are you?”

“Luke and Michael’s room!”

Calum climbs the steps to the second floor of their hours and pushes open the door to his best friends’ room, smiling as he finds his boyfriend lounging on the bed with one of said owners of the room, talking animatedly. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmurs, slipping in beside Ashton and pulling him into his arms. Ashton blushes deeply at the nickname, his cheeks pinking up. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Ashton mutters. “Never been called that before.”

“You better get used to it, because that’s my new favorite thing to call you.” Calum presses a kiss to the boy’s head, squeezing him tightly.

“Cal, can’t breathe!”

“Now I know how Cal used to feel…” Michael grumbles, pulling a pillow over his face. “You two are disgusting.”

“Deal with it,” Calum replies, smirking at him. “I dealt with you two for years. And Luke should be up soon. He’s downstairs, talking to the band.”

“How are they doing?” Ashton asks. “Ready to start recording some original music yet?”

“Just about,” Calum nods. “They’ve got a lot of original stuff written, it’s just a matter of recording it all. Luke’s setting up times when they can come in to do it. I just came up because I missed my Ashy.”

“I will never get used to that either.”

“I’m never gonna get used to you two being disgusting as hell.”

“Wanna be disgusting as hell back?” Luke appears in the doorway, reaching the bed in two seconds flat. He pulls Michael into his chest and begins to press kisses to the older boy’s face. Michael’s giggles fill the room, and Ashton smiles, leaning his head back on Calum’s chest. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he whispers. “Five years. I missed five years. And you guys still love me the way you did five years ago. Even after all I did to you.”

“Stop with that,” Calum sighs, kissing his cheek. “We love you. We always have. We always will. You did what you needed to do, and you got caught up in a really shitty time. And now it’s over. Now you’re safe. Now you have a reason to be alive.”

“Being homeless is one of the worst things in the world,” Ashton mumbles. “And…after I get back to normal…or at least, kinda normal, I want to start a charity. I want to raise money to help feed homeless people, build more shelters, that sort of thing. What would’ve really helped me…was food. Food, and a nice place to sleep. Those are things I really needed. And I want to raise money to help people who live like I did, so they can turn their lives around, like I did. No one should have to live within those means.”

“Ash? That’s beautiful,” Michael comments. “That is so beautiful and we can definitely do something like that. You can run it, and you’ll know exactly what to do, since you’ve been there. You know how to help. You’re using your experiences to better the world, it’s beautiful.”

Ashton blushes deeper and hides his face in Calum’s chest. “I just want to do what I can to help. Make a difference. I spent so long destroying myself, destroying my body, destroying my spirit…I spent so many days wishing I wouldn’t wake up to see the next. But I did. And then you guys found me. And now I’m here. But not everyone is in my position, not everyone is a former member of a successful band and has money to get themselves out of a hole like the one I was in. I want this charity to give people the hope you guys gave me. Without the money there to help. Because yeah, you guys finding me and taking care of me was great, but I didn’t have to worry about money. I didn’t have to worry about us buying this house. But not everyone has that. I want this charity to make a difference to the people who have nothing. I want to show them that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that the hell they’re living won’t be forever. It gets better, it really does.”


End file.
